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They look in every thoughtless nest,

Where birds are cover'd warm;
They visit caves of every beast,

To keep them all from harm.
If they see any weeping,
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey, 1 They pitying stand and weep; Seeking to drive their thirst away,

And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes

Shall flow with tears of gold,
And pitying the tender cries,

And walking round the fold,
Saying, "Wrath, by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness
Is driven away
From our immortal day.

“And now beside thee, bleating lamb,

I can lie down and sleep; Or think on Him who bore thy name,

Graze after thee and weep.

For, wash'd in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold
As I guard o'er the fold.”


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What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night,

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance,

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.



This only grant me,

my means may

lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high.

Some honour I would have,
Not from great deeds, but good alone.
The unknown are better than ill known;

Rumour can ope the grave.
Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends
Not on the number, but the choice of friends.

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Books should, not business, entertain the light,
And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night.

My house a cottage, more
Than palace, and should fitting be,
For all my use, not luxury.

My garden painted o'er With nature's hands, not art’s; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

Thus would I double my life's fading space
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.

And in this true delight
The unbought sports, this happy state,
I would not fear nor wish my fate,

But boldly say each night,
To-morrow let my sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to-day.



Ah, what avails the sceptred race!
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and sighs
I consecrate to thee.



I REMEMBER, I remembe.
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups —
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set

The laburnum on his birthday
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now;
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 't is little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.



Behold, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
I started — seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,
The sparrow's dwelling, which hard by

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